


Essere Qualcosa

by ice_hot_13



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ice_hot_13/pseuds/ice_hot_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonardo wants to be something without his art, and Ezio wants to be something besides an assassin. Five times Leonardo asked for a hug and one time he didn't .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Leonardo had heard about Venezia.

He had tried to paint it before, based on nothing but imagination. The city of his paintings had a maze of canals, shrouded alternatively in fog or sunlight, literally from a dream. The city around him was all gray stone and water, shadows curled alongside buildings, extending a stone-cold touch even as sunlight stained the ground besides them. Water lapped at the edges of the canals in a hushed purr, pigeons strutting alongside, as people wound past Leonardo, gazes glossing over him.

It was always fascinating to Leonardo, a fascination with perhaps a twinge of the bittersweet, that he was so separated from his work.

He was not one with the work he produced, their beauty not reflected upon him lest it be through his signature. People would marvel at his paintings, his sculptures, his sketches, call him brilliant and deem him awe-inspiring. Should he be seen without his paintings, he felt depressingly average, felt the absurd need to prove himself extraordinary, to mention to strangers that he could produce beauty from his mind and hands. Leonardo didn't like being separated from his work; he felt lost without the admiration and respect his work granted him, hungered for his achieved recognition that was lost when he was without proof. Those who did not know him as an artist, he felt, did not know him at all. That which he lacked but could sometimes possess stung the most.

He had tasted something like superiority, the extraordinary, and to be rendered without it for so much of his life was agony. He had _been_ miraculous, through his work; in his everyday life, he wished for the feel of fulfillment he could not hold onto, not without his work. He wished for the feel of fulfillment without having to show the proof that he was worthy.

People continued to shoulder by as he wandered after their chattering guide, who would take three steps forward, spin around and take five backwards, trip back around and continue forward facing the destination, then back around, hands waving and words flowing.

Leonardo didn't notice.

"Dové il monolocale?" Ezio muttered from behind him, sounding surly because the studio in question was taking so long to find. Leonardo turned to look at him, but Ezio was glaring down at the ground, hood hiding his face.

"I think it's close to here" Leonardo answered, attention snagging on a market stand. The little figuring was a figuring of a person that could be moved into different poses; Leonardo had always been entranced by the flawless construction of the human body. "Look, isn't it amazing?" He turned his gaze from the figuring to Ezio. The assassin's gaze moved to him, for a moment, eyes brown like chocolate; Leonardo supposed Ezio fancied himself unreadable. "Would you mind buying it for me? I, um, I left my money with my bags." He could see the  _yes_ in Ezio's eyes, a  _yes, if I could._ Ezio could steal for him, nothing more.

Nothing less; he could perhaps offer the world.

And always nothing more; he could offer nothing of true possession. Nothing.

Leonardo slipped on ahead as Ezio barked at a boy that careened by them; a few moments later, Leonardo could sense Ezio following along after him, could tell Ezio was trying to act normal, to keep the silence out of his steps. As he tried to be something besides an assassin. He could never chase the assassin from himself.

There had been a time, when Ezio was something other than an assassin; once, he had been more, a friend, a son, a student, as well as an assassin. Leonardo wondered if that had merely been forms of being an assassin, variations of what he was now; friend of assassins, son of an assassin, student to become an assassin. But variations nonetheless. That had been before it became him, like the mask that became a face. Leonardo wondered if Ezio missed being anything else.

Leonardo knew Ezio was there, if only because he recognized the faint scent of spices, his attention focused more on the assassin than on their guide. The man was talking about a church they passed, a tiny building tucked between taller walls of stone. Leonardo felt a hand at the small of his back, Ezio's voice in his ear, "it is nothing to look at, but you will be astounded by the music."

"Do you know everything about the city?" Leonardo didn't miss the swift smile this earned him from the assassin.

"More than most believe there is to be known." He was still looking around; Leonardo still didn't know if this was out of wariness or mere interest, "I'll tell you about it sometime."

"Even the secrets no one should know?"

"Si, even those." Ezio smiled, "How could I keep anything from you?"

At least, Leonardo thought, turning to watch a gondola be guided beneath a bridge, Ezio wasn't hiding anything intentionally.

"Why did you choose Venezia, Leonardo?" Ezio asked, striding alongside him almost silently, "I was wondering that."

Why? Leonardo wasn't going to share that, no. Baring his soul was something he liked to imagine he was capable of and even liked partaking in, but he couldn't deny the urge to shy away.

"That, Ezio, will be the one secret Venezia will keep from you" he smiled at Ezio's puzzled look, "Maybe I just like the masks."

Ezio laughed, softly, like his attention had already darted away after Leonardo's evasive answer, to hunt it and pin it down to force a confession from him.

Their guide was talking about the gondolas, something that made Ezio snicker.

"What?" Leonardo inquired of the assassin, whose grin only widened.

"I've sunk my fair share of those, you could say."

Leonardo shook his head, hiding a smile. They reached the studio, and Leonardo bid their guide goodbye, turned back to Ezio.

"Care to come in?"

"Maybe later, I need to visit-" he rattled off something, but all Leonardo heard was the music of the words, the tumble of letters, from the hum of an  _m_ to the deep roll of the  _r._ Leonardo half wanted to be a true musician, inspired by the beauty in words, but the words themselves would always distract him from the notes on the page.

"Should you find yourself with free time or another codex page,"  _or the irrepressible desire to see me,_ "don't hesitate to visit. My door is always open."

And windows, given Ezio's typical method of entering a building.

Common sense fought emotion and hardly a heartbeat later, Leonardo gave in, held out his arms for an embrace. Ezio was looking away, though, at something Leonardo probably wouldn't have thought to see.

"Grazie, my friend." His gaze flickered back to Leonardo; the artist couildn't help his crushed look as he slid his hands into his pockets.

 _You can't even give me that?_ He had trouble keeping the bitterness from his voice when he next spoke, "Di niente. Return when you have a codex page, won't you?"

"Si, amico mio. Perhaps sooner." He started to walk past, paused to set a hand on Leonardo's shoulder. "Would that be all right?"

"Si, si."

He turned to watch Ezio leave, but the assassin was already gone, footsteps having disappeared into the silence, because he only tried to be something besides an assassin for Leonardo.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  Leonardo didn't know the exact moment when he fell in love with Ezio, but he knew the moment he realized it. It hadn't felt like the sudden strike of lightening; it had been the slow approach of a storm, steady and clear on the horizon, rendering him motionless at its beauty, helpless at its inevitability.

It had been laughter.

When he had known Ezio for only a short while, he had wondered if the assassin ever laughed. Ezio had appeared icy and serious, until the day Leonardo started ranting about what he'd wanted to do to a customer for annoying him, and then abruptly changed tracks and said he didn't like birds, not at all, and would they like the taste of coffee?

Ezio had fallen out of his chair laughing, and it had humanized him like nothing else could, had been all Leonardo had needed to realize just how in love with Ezio he was.

That had been the moment, the day the flash of lightening illuminated the dark sky, proving the storm was there, was staying.

"I'm going to ram this paintbrush down your throat if you give me this much trouble!" Leonardo brandished the weapon of choice, "do you understand me?!"

"Why the sudden onslaught of violence?" Ezio's voice made Leonardo jump.

"How-" He whipped around, blinking at the assassin standing in the center of the room.

"Second story window. Who were you talking to?" Ezio looked around the studio, empty save for them. Leonardo felt a blush bloom on his cheeks as he indicated his painting.

"I am having difficulties."

Ezio laughed, that deep laugh Leonardo suspected most other people had to live without, had possibly never before heard.

"Well, I do not see where." He hovered over Leonardo's shoulder, "Show me, Leonardo." Leonardo heard that spill of his name, wondered if Ezio was the only one to say it like that, or if perhaps, he didn't truly listen to anyone else.

"You see?" He pointed out what was, to him, an egregious error in the shade of red.

"No, I do not. It's beautiful, like everything you do." He wandered across the room, and Leonardo heard the shuffling of paper. "What is this?"

"The old design for the _assassino_ hidden blade." Leonardo explained, frowning at the shade of red on the canvas, "I found drawings and sketched the blade myself.... perhaps it should be more scarlet than crimson...."

"Yes, but..." Ezio examined the sketch closer, "Have you drawn the hand incorrectly? It is missing a finger." He set it down on the small table, pulling out a chair for himself.

"No, it's correct." Leonardo crossed the room to trace a finger over the ink, "you see? They cut off this finger." A look of horror crossed Ezio's face at that. "For the blade to come through, you see?"

"They cut off the finger?" Ezio's voice sounded rather strangled.

"Yes." Leonardo paused a moment, then drew in a breath, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, drawing in a slow breath, "They did."

"What?" Ezio's gaze darted to his face, catching on the silence just as Leonardo had known he would.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to tell you.." He drew in a hesitant breath, "Amico mio, the blade you have is not nearly as efficient as this other model." He tapped on the sketch, "This is far more precise. I am very sorry."

"Sorry because..." Ezio blinked, as the realization dawned on his face, a slow, gradual overtaking of horror, "Leonardo, is my finger going to get cut off?"

"I am very, very sorry. I'm afraid it is necessary. I believe some sort of knife would be the quickest method, wouldn't you say?"

"But-" Ezio's eyes widened, as he clutched his hand to his chest, "I think my blade is perfectly functional. Really, Leonardo, it is. It is."

"No, no, that is only because you have not used the better version. Truly, Ezio, it is for the best."

"But-" Terror had settled across the tan face, "Leonardo, I don't _want_ to lose my finger!"

"I offer my most heart-felt sympathy, amico mio. Truly." He reached for the drawer beside his work table, concealed his amusment at the look of sheer terror on Ezio's face when he picked up a knife, "It will only hurt for a short while." Ezio went pale.

"Non voglio a!" Ezio gasped, one hand grasping the other tightly against his chest, "Non voglio lo, Leonardo, non farmi fa lo fa!"

Leonardo tried very, very hard to hide his amusement as Ezio gasped about how he didn't want to do it, and begged Leonardo not to make him do it.

"Non voglio perdere il mia dito!" Ezio pleaded, halfway towards hysterics, "Non, non, non!"

"Ezio!" Leonardo interrupted the rant about how Ezio didn't want to lose his finger, "Ezio, I'm _joking!"_ He laughed, "I'm sorry, I couldn't help it." Ezio dropped his head down on the table, growling.

"oh, mio Dio!" he groaned, "Leonardo, I _believed_ you!"

"How could an old, old blade be better than the one I gave you?" Leonardo grinned down at the growling assassin, "You are too easy to fool."

"You're just too good at it" Ezio stood, making a face at him, "you, and not the assassinations, will be the death of me!"

"You're just too gullible." Leonardo snickered, "and speaking of gullible men, Antonio was looking for you."

"Figures" Ezio muttered under his breath, practically pouting. "I really didn't do anything wrong this time, I swear it."

"You always say this, Ezio."

"And I'm always right!" He swept his cape back into place over his shoulder, striding towards the door, pausing to glower at Leonardo, who followed him. "You don't believe me."

"Of course I do. I also just happen to know you're wrong!" Leonardo grinned, and Ezio grudgingly allowed a small smile. "I'm sorry for tricking you. It was just impossible to resist."

"I should expect that of you."

"Yes. I do apologize though."

Temptation was too much, as was the desire to hold him, if only for a second; he held out his arms again, praying even harder this time.

Ezio was looking down at his hand, probably thanking _Dio_ that his finger was still in place, and didn't notice.

"Ciao, amico mio." He strode out the door without once looking back.

Leonardo leaned against the doorway, watching nothing.

True, many people had never heard Ezio laugh; perhaps, Leonardo thought, all they were missing was the heartbreak.

Perhaps, he thought, the beauty of it was lost to the hurt it caused.

"Ciao, amore mio."


	3. Chapter 3

Leonardo never knew whether to claim credit, or to let it come to him. People were milling about the ballroom, and Leonardo could hear the murmurs of praise. The art collector had hosted the soiree as an excuse to unveil the latest additions to his art collection. Leonardo could see his signature in the corner of one painting, making him glow with pride.

"A truly beautiful collection, Signore" a voice was saying to the collector, "the new pieces are lovely." Leonardo resisted jumping into the conversation to claim artistic ownership, slipped through the crowd away from them. As he stopped to survey the other paintings, he felt a hand at his lower back, a voice in his ear.

"Getting drunk on compliments, amico mio?" Ezio's purr, so very distinct in Leonardo's consciousness.

"Perhaps." Leonardo smiled, "I find myself rather addicted to it."

"You do deserve the praise. Will you be here long?"

"I was just leaving." At his words, Ezio's touch slipped away.

"Wait for me. I'll be back in a moment, I need to locate someone."

After he'd gone in the sudden silence of absence, Leonardo found himself staring up at the painting, wondering as he always did.

"Leonardo!" The familiar trill of Signorina Camilla met his ears, the sweet stickiness of when she wanted him to finish her painting early.

"Hello, Signorina" he smiled at the brunette, "how are you?"

"Simply marvelous. But I will be quite jealous if you tell me that man I just saw you with is your lover," High skip of a laugh, and Leonardo attempted a smile, decided that lying would save him more than the truth ever could.

"Signorina, you know my only love is my art."

She could have said anything, and it would have barely registered with him. As it were, she just said she'd drop by a day or two, "or three, darling," early to collect her painting, and wandered off.

It was ridiculous, really, to want something he'd never have, but Leonardo had never been one to let reality ground his imagination. Far more sweet to imagine, despite the pain that always swept him into the fall from his dreams.

Despite the crush of reality, Leonardo had decided that the best part would be the  _knowing._ To actually know Ezio, to feel like he actually knew who Ezio really was, that was what felt like true intimacy.

"Shall we leave now?" Ezio was back, and judging from the distinct lack of screaming, Leonardo guessed that the person he'd located hadn't been marked for death. Leonardo cast one last glance up at the painting on the wall, wondered exactly when his first love had fallen to second best, then followed Ezio.

The streets were empty, sound fading away as they left the light and sound of the ballroom for the street. Leonardo tried hard, but couldn't hear Ezio's footsteps, even though the assassin was right beside him.

"Something wrong, Leonardo?"

Leonardo was momentarily distracted by the deep, melodious sound of his name; he looked up to find that gaze fixed on him, and in the dark, Ezio's eyes appeared an endless dark.

"Nothing. Nothing."

Ezio said nothing, but Leonardo again had the distinct feeling that every time the assassin asked, Ezio  _wanted_ an answer. Leonardo always felt a weight of guilt, when he quietly denier Ezio the honest words, always dismissing the question. He didn't want Ezio to know, he told himself.

He denied the honest truth even to himself. It was easier, sometimes closer to painless, even though he could do nothing against its basic, undeniable existence, one that was entirely his own fault.

He didn't want Ezio to hurt him.

In his mind, he pretended that Ezio didn't even care he was brilliant through art, that to Ezio, he was more than that. Allowing Ezio in gave the assassin the opportunity to prove himself the same as everyone else.

Leonardo loved Ezio more than art. To find that the one man who meant that much was no different than any other-

"If you're sure." Ezio mumbled.

For the first time, Leonardo wondered if Ezio wanted him to use the question to prove himself different- than what?- but it changed nothing.

"I'm fine. Truly."

Nothing at all. Perhaps it was a dance, one of balance, that they played.

They were two streets from Leonardo's workshop when Ezio spoke again. "You continue to amaze me, Leonardo." At his words, Leonardo learned what true, tangible hope felt like.

"Why is that?" Leonardo smiled, as they approached the building. He pushed open the door, looking to Ezio, "Buona notte, amico mio." He gave in, he always did, waited for an embrace, but Ezio spoke first.

Hope could not be tangible.

"Your painting was amazing. One of the best you have ever created."

Leonardo frowned, tucked his hands in his pockets. It was like going numb, falling victim to slow-spreading poison. He wished for any other way to die.

"Grazie," He forced the lie into existence, "Arriverderci, Ezio."

He never heard Ezio walk away, just knew that he always did, but this time, that could have been because he closed the door before Ezio left.

He needn't have bothered shielding himself from all the hurt Ezio could cause. Like a hidden blade amidst strikes of a sword, Ezio had found a way in. He had done it on his own. Leonardo had to wonder if it had been inevitable. If Ezio saw him as having worth only as an artist because that was true. Because Leonardo had no more to him.

It was when he sketched Ezio that Leonardo felt closest to him. The sketches of the assassin were by far the most beautiful, binding Leonardo to his art, to the beauty he could create, the amazement he could evoke.

Leonardo had never felt more chained to his love.

He never heard Ezio walk away, but had he gone to the window, Leonardo would have seen Ezio still standing outside his door.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Leonardo was not hiding it well.

He'd vowed he wouldn't let Ezio's words touch him and yet, he was still being repeatedly burned by their unforgiving ice. Not three mornings later, Leonardo was about to fall to pieces because a drawer was jammed shut, of all things. _Look what you've done to me,_ his thoughts screamed, as he yanked on the handle, fighting angry tears of frustration. Feeling _hurt_ had been painful enough, but spending the last three days without Ezio and without any sign of the hurt lessening had twisted the pain into something he'd never wanted to feel.

It wasn't just pain anymore, it was an anger and a hatred he felt with a shame that leveled with its intensity.

Leonardo couldn't _help_ it. He hated that Ezio had that much power over him, that so few words could completely, absolutely destroy everything Leonardo was, hated himself for being so vulnerable. And the emotion he did his shamefaced best to bury was the anger. Anger, that he could _love_ Ezio so wholly, and that Ezio still thought nothing of hurting him, so easily, so thoughtlessly. That Ezio cared so little.

Leonardo almost would have preferred the simple pain of being hurt by unkind words; to hate himself for _being_ hurt and Ezio for being cruel, to harbor such anger at being treated like _nothing-_ it was nothing short of unbearable.

"Hello?" A singsong voice made him turn, go through the motions of collecting himself, although some pieces of him was still broken and jabbing. He strode over, opened the door to the studio, "Signorina Camilla, a delightful surprise."

"I do love visiting," she smiled, he barely saw, "to see the birth place of such brilliance!"Leonardo fought tears and snarls.

"Signorina, I finished your painting last night, I do hope it pleases you."

He was relieved when she finally left. Leonardo doubted he was better off alone with himself, but the quiet, he reasoned, might help him reorient himself.

No more than seven minutes later, the death-signaling toll of a bell dashed the silence to pieces, turning the quiet slip of a soul from life to death into a noisy violence. There was no doubt in Leonardo's mind as to who had caused the death, or as to who would next come through his door.

Leonardo did not want to see Ezio.

He never wanted the assassin to come near him again. If far away, no blade could touch him. Distance was his only ally. And yet- even as the thought of Ezio's words and all that he could still say threatened to break Leonardo, there was still betrayal. One of those broken pieces of him turned traitor, keening for Ezio, to give Ezio the chance to make him whole again.

But to give Ezio such a clean shot, when he had already managed to destroy so much with a stab that had been from nowhere, the prospect was terrifying. Leonardo turned back to the broken drawer, what little resolve he held onto set against seeing Ezio.

"I don't like him anymore," He growled down at the stuck drawer, yanking hard on the edges, "I don't. I don't want to see him _ever._ I don't, I don't, I don't, I don't-" Each hiss was punctuated by a tug on the drawer, "If he _ever-"_ Leonardo yelped as his hand slipped off the edge and hit the counter painfully, "-everdoes that again- _so help me Dio-_ I will- I will-"

"You're threatening a drawer, now, amico mio?" The deep laugh made Leonardo's heart lurch, but he refused to admit that.

"Not the drawer." He pulled hard, but the only result was another slip of his hand and smash against the counter. "In all the world, there is nothing that could make me more angry that a _drawer_ than at-" he bit the last word back, glaring down at the drawer.

"Than at what?" Before Leonardo could reply, there was the sound of something breaking. Leonardo held his breath, didn't turn around.

"Mi dispiace, Leonardo..."

So help him, if that had been the _last_ cup he had that Ezio hadn't broken- a quick sideways glance told him that, indeed, he was going to have to buy more cups. It _never failed-_ Ezio would come dashing in after a long chase, and promptly break a cup in his haste. Leonardo drew in a long breath, again failed to truly collect himself enough to proceed calmly. "What is it you wanted?"

"Well..." A chair scraped against the floor, "I..." Leonardo turned, sighed. Ezio was sitting at the table, holding his left elbow, blood wetting his fingertips.

"The _only_ gap in your armor and you _always_ leave it unguarded..." Leonardo muttered as he went to find medical supplies, missing the injured look that appeared on Ezio's face. He rummaged in a cabinet, but turned around to find Ezio gone from the table.

"It's fixed now" Ezio said quietly from where he stood by the broken drawer, pulling it open and pushing it closed, "Mi dispiace..." He crossed the room again, sank back into the chair, wincing. Leonardo deposited the box on the table, sifting through to find something to clean the blood away with.

"Who was it?"

"A merchant." Ezio frowned. "I... " The frown deepened, "I believe."

"Stab first and find out who it is later." Leonardo pushed Ezio's sleeve back, more roughly than medically necessary, didn't miss the whine of pain this elicited, "you aren't _sure?"_

"I... nearly…"

"Nearly." The gash wasn't anything serious, but damned if it wasn't in the exact same place as the last two times, "You assassins are all the same." Ezio gasped in pain as he pulled his arm back, pushing away from Leonardo.

"Perhaps." His tone was snarling with an insulted pain, "I thought you were different, Leonardo, I really did." Leonardo had no reply for him, couldn't bring himself to reply, to fight back, to cry _you've done the same to me,_ for nothing was anything in the face of the hurt he'd caused in the man he _loved._ "Or," Ezio turned away, shoulders slumped, that way he had like he hoped no one would notice, "Hoped, rather."

He'd gone before Leonardo could find a way to apologize, to take back anything. Leonardo was motionless for a moment, before the still-ringing bell brought him back to awareness; Ezio was not safe anywhere at the moment, only _here._

Leonardo would _never_ forgive himself if Ezio was harmed because he'd fled his only sanctuary in all of Venice because of _him._

After a few minutes, Leonardo had figured out where Ezio was hiding; traces of bloody fingerprints were on the walls, leading up to the rooftops. Leonardo _hated_ climbing, but he shoved that aside and located the ladder Ezio always ignored that was leaning against the buildings. By the time he reached the top, Leonardo had sworn to himself sixty-seven times that he was _never_ going to climb this high up _ever again._ He climbed onto the roof, found that looking up made him just as dizzy as looking down, and scrambled across to the sheltered rooftop garden he'd made solely for the purpose of offering a hiding place to Ezio. He'd always wondered how it was that Ezio knew, not where, but _when_ to hide. Somehow, the assassin knew when he could jump into a hiding spot and not get dragged back out by a guard, and that, Leonardo thought, was the most difficult part, and it was the least he could do to make the 'where' aspect even a shade easier.

Leonardo didn't know what words to use; he merely pulled back the cloth that made the walls and settled next to Ezio on the ground. Ezio was sitting with his back against the short wooden walls that contained the garden, hood hiding his face. By now, his fingers were covered in his blood as he cradled his hurt arm.

"May I tend that now?" Leonardo said softly, taking the gauze from his pocket. Ezio wordlessly held his arm out to Leonardo, refusing to make even a wince of pain as Leonardo pushed the sleeve away. Leonardo's gaze darted from the gash up to Ezio's face, but Ezio was looking away. In the slant of sunlight that slipped past the cloth walls, the dark eyes were illuminated, never dark at all, always a honeyed hazel. Amber. Leonardo's gaze drifted to Ezio's lips, imagining the apology that never came, before he turned back to the matter at hand. "I'm sorry."

"You?" Ezio had turned his head to watch Leonardo wrap a bandage around the gash, "I don't mean to leave myself unguarded. I'm too occupied keeping the rest of myself guarded, I forget about that one gap in my armor..." Leonardo blinked up at him, wondering how Ezio had interpreted the apology. Ezio elaborated no more, leaving Leonardo to wonder whether this was the physical or the metaphorical armor, the one protecting all emotions.

"What I said was cruel." Leonardo clarified his apology quietly, pretending Ezio had been speaking literally, so he could tell himself for just a little longer that he hadn't hurt Ezio _that much,_ "That is what I'm sorry for," Leonardo said, as he finished bandaging and removed his touch. Ezio was silent, but there was a fathomless sorrow in the amber eyes Leonardo couldn't take his gaze from. "You are not..." Leonardo drew in a breath, found no way to proceed without confessing that which he could not reveal, "There was nothing worse I could have said to you." He was aware that his words were the cause of the crimson blush that Ezio turned away to hide, but he wasn't sure whose shame Ezio was feeling. "Mi dispiace," Leonardo murmured, then stood. "You are welcome to hide in my workshop, should you need to."

He'd sworn to himself that the last time would have been _the last,_ but, again, held out his arms, hoped to _Dio_ for some stroke of luck, but Ezio was still turned away, head bowed.

"Grazie," came the quiet murmur, deep like the darkest satin, as Leonardo climbed back out of the garden.

Safely on the ground once more, Leonardo found himself back in his studio, staring down at the drawer, thoughts still with Ezio on the rooftops, if the assassin was still there at all.

Leonardo had thought he'd never want to see Ezio again, could still feel that he was in pieces, scarcely being held together. Despite the will to hate Ezio, to shunt the assassin from his life and refuse to forgive, Leonardo found he could not let go. It was as if somehow, some part of him realized that letting go of Ezio would be surrendering something of himself, irreplaceable, invaluable. As if Ezio were the key to defining him, and not his art.

He slid the drawer open, closed, open, closed, thoughts distant, but only as far as the rooftop. It was still amazing to him, that one man could hurt him this badly. And that Leonardo himself could hurt someone else so deeply as well.

He almost wished Ezio had been screaming, that he'd _intended_ to hurt. Not that he'd intended his words to be kind, proving only that he truly did not know Leonardo. The sting to his words came not only from the words themselves, but, also, to the raw testament to the fact that Ezio truly did _not know_ Leonardo in so intimate a way. Hurting him back was supposed to have been a release, but all it did was prove to Leonardo that Ezio needed to be forgiven. Seeing the effect of what he'd said, seeing Ezio, not angry, but so crushed, had been the worst of all agony. And his words had been endlessly worse, because he'd _meant_ to hurt. He'd calculated Ezio's weakest point and found the gap in his armor, and _stabbed,_ just to see Ezio break down, for no other cause than to hurt Ezio as deeply as he could, as deeply as Ezio had hurt him _._

It had not lessened his own hurt, only made it painfully obvious that Ezio had not deserved Leonardo's hatred or attack. He hadn't meant to hurt.

His own mistake showed Leonardo what he himself was capable of; that if he could intentionally hurt his closest friend in such a way, that it was more than forgivable for Ezio to accidentally hurt him. Ezio did not even know what he was capable of in that respect.

Ezio had the power to destroy. To completely, absolutely destroy him. Leonardo had never thought that this would be the very reason that Ezio would be able to save him.

It took as much power to save as it took to destroy.

The only difference, Leonardo knew, was that while destruction could be unintentional, Ezio would have to _want_ to save him.


	5. Chapter 5

The merchant was looking at Leonardo like he was trying to decide if the artist was serious.

"Signore, twelve _more?"_ The man finally managed to form a cohesive sentence, "Were you not here just last week?"

"Si." Leonardo looked down at the wooden countertop.

"Was there something wrong with those twelve glasses?"

"No."

"Did you not like them?"

"Si, si, I did." Leonardo felt a blush creep into his cheeks. "I just..."

"Signore, you have purchased twenty-four glasses from here in the past two and a half weeks... if I am at fault, I would be more than happy to replace them, I am simply _appalled_ that something from my shop would be so unsatisfactory, and am embarrassed by this-" the merchant looked perfectly miserable, "Signore, you are not the first of my valued customers to repeatedly replace merchandise, if there is some fault-"

"No, no, it is nothing like that. No faults." Leonardo broke in, "I just... I have a friend who is very clumsy." He shifted his gaze to the merchant's face for a moment, "and he broke them."

"All twelve?" The merchant's eyes widened. Leonardo shook his head.

"...he also broke the twelve from the week before that."

"Mi Dio, Signore," The merchant shook his head, "you need to keep this friend away from your kitchen."

"I definitely should." Leonardo agreed, as the merchant moved to the shelves, "perhaps, if you have something..."

"Sturdier?" The merchant brought over a glass, "better?" Leonardo looked at the glass, and while it appeared less fragile, he wasn't sure there was anything on Earth that could stand up to an assault from Ezio.

"Si, si. Perfect."

"I'll wrap twelve for you, Signore" The merchant said, turning back to the shelves, "although perhaps it would be best to keep your friend away from them."

"I will do that, for certain."

The merchant wrapped up another twelve glasses for him, and Leonardo left the shop, hoping to _Dio_ that he would not have to return soon. Before he could even finish the thought, someone had slammed into him, nearly sending him to the ground.

"Leonardo!" At Ezio's voice, Leonardo groaned.  
"You are just the man I'm supposed to stay away from" Leonardo got to his feet, looking up at the hooded assassin, smiled at the dark look his remark got him, "I think the glass merchant would throttle me if I got more of his masterpieces demolished."

"He should find another craft if he is so sensitive" Ezio smiled, "but, Leonardo... I have a favor to ask of you."

"Si?" Leonardo started towards his workshop; the glass merchant's shop was across the street, and he hadn't even managed to get that far without endangering the glass again. Ezio smiled, and Leonardo then realized that the bells had been tolling for some time now. "I see someone was lucky enough to warrant your undivided attention." Whereas the death of the merchant had been merely a ripple of disturbance, the death of the general had stirred up a mayhem unrivalled by any other assassination.

"The entire city is on the lookout for me" Ezio said, following Leonardo into the studio, a mixture of sheepishness and arrogance unique to him in in voice. "I was wondering if I could perhaps ask you to let me hide here?" Leonardo looked down sadly at the glass cups that he knew would never get to enjoy a long, fulfilling life, then smiled up at Ezio.

"Of course, amico mio."

"Grazie"

Leonardo had given up on resisting, he held out his free arm and hoped to _Dio_ that Ezio would hug him, but Ezio had already walked past.

"I can put those away, if you wish" Ezio was saying, but Leonardo shook his head no, holding the package to his chest.

"Ezio, it would delight me to no end if you would stay as far away from these as humanly possible."

How Leonardo _loved_ that laugh.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leonardo would have sworn that Ezio was absolutely incapable of focusing his attention on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. However, when he wandered downstairs at seven the next morning, Ezio was sitting at the table, staring down at some piece of paper, and Leonardo had the distinct impression that he'd been doing so for quite some time.

"What is so interesting, amico mio?" Leonardo asked sleepily, crossing the room to see. Ezio had come across one of his more detailed sketches, of the people Leonardo had seen outside his window. Ezio shrugged a shoulder, amber-eyed gaze still fixed on the sketch.

"It's very good..." he said, sounding distracted. Leonardo wondered what Ezio was thinking, as he looked at the sketch. If he was like Leonardo, fascinated with the way patterns flowed and designs bloomed, in the tiny distinctions that made one face differ from another. Or, rather, if he didn't see the lines, but saw the people composed of the lines, saw the histories behind them and the relationships linking them. It was the sort of question Leonardo would never ask. "You're awake early."

"It's seven."

"And you usually sleep until nine." The offhand remark made Leonardo look at the assassin.

"How do you _know_ that?" Leonardo couldn't help the smile that came upon seeing the way Ezio almost blushed scarlet with embarrassment.

"You're always asleep when I sneak in."

"Ah. And you do this... when?" Leonardo left the studio workshop to the adjoining kitchen, not missing the way Ezio turned a darker scarlet.

"Have you never wondered why twelve cups can be broken over twenty times?"

"I..." Leonardo stared down at the cup he'd taken from the cupboard; he'd never _counted_ how many cups were broken, but, looking back, he had wondered just how it was that Ezio could seem to break so many and yet never break _all_ of them.

"I sneak in to replace them." Ezio looked up with confusion when Leonardo started laughing.

"Do you go to the glass merchant just across the way?"

"Yes..."

"No wonder he was so worried about the quality of his glass!" Leonardo shook his head, grinning, "the poor man... not one but two frequent customers showing up far too frequently... he must've been so worried..."

"Those aren't really that sturdy, you know." Ezio pointed out then, "that cup? That is what I got last time. You never noticed they were different, did you?"

"I never pay attention to them..." Leonardo inspected the cup that had seemed familiar, "how funny... I guess they really aren't sturdy, seeing as you broke all those, too..." He then turned to the open window, noticing that voices were growing in number outside, "it's getting late..." He set the cup back down, "I have to meet an art collector, he wants a painting. Ciao, amico mio." He left without glancing over, missing the disappointed look on Ezio's face.

The art collector was nothing if not boring, and Leonardo was glad to leave after agreeing to paint something to complete his collection. The meeting had taken two hours longer than Leonardo felt necessary; however, he doubted a four-minute meeting would have been even remotely socially acceptable.

Ezio was at the table when Leonardo returned, the same spot Leonardo had left him in. The room had changed, though, evidence that Ezio had been fidgety and restless the entire time.

"How is it that my workshop hates _me_ and loves _you?"_ Leonardo asked as he closed the door, Ezio instantly turning towards the sound of his voice.

"Because I know how to fix things" Crooked smile and it _killed_ Leonardo. "You seem to break drawers often."

"They break on their own" Leonardo insisted. "Honest!" He protested when Ezio just smiled. "I don't _do_ anything to them, they just break!"

"Of course, amico mio." Ezio turned back to the sketches spread out over the table, having been pouring over a particular sketch before Leonardo's return. "You are as bad with drawers as I am with glasses." It didn't escape Leonardo, that Ezio sounded increasingly more distant. He pretended to wander through the workshop, picking up things and putting them back down, sifting through scraps of paper, until he'd worked his way around to Ezio's back, and crept forward. Ezio had come across the sketches Leonardo had done of his own friends and acquaintances, including Ezio himself. It was just as beautiful as any of the sketches, this one showing Ezio picking up glass fragments from the floor. His sheepishness was evident, the relief that always reflected in his eyes when Leonardo just laughed at his recklessness, every detail captured. Leonardo prided himself on that, a sort of pride he couldn't admit aloud, for fear of sounding consumed by his own artistry. It was undeniable, though, his love for details. From the scuff on Ezio's boot from the time he'd fallen into a canal, the cross-hatch of stitches on the sleeve to repair a cut in the fabric, the absence of once-present freckles.

Leonardo had a love for details. He could obsess over the smallest aspects of an image for hours, because he knew that it was the smallest components that made the whole picture. It was why there were birds etched into the metal of a pistol and hours spent toiling over the uneven edges of the stones composing the painting of a cathedral. It was his love of details that created his resentment towards the effect Ezio had over him, able to bring down the whole world in one moment. It was the overpowering domination of the whole, that it wasn't the details about Ezio that brought Leonardo to his knees, it was the entire essence, the _everything_ that made Ezio who he was. He clung to the details, convinced himself that while _Ezio_ could change the entire world Leonardo lived in, there was no harm in loving Ezio's smile or delighting in his laugh, as that, Leonardo valiantly convinced himself, that was _harmless._

Leonardo didn't miss the look of dislike on Ezio's face. "Something wrong?" Leonardo asked airily, wandering back across the workshop.

"I could ask you the same, you've been walking in circles." Ezio replied, pushing the sketch away from him, unsuccessfully trying to hide his dark expression.

"Yes, but I asked you first."

"This is true." Ezio stood, turning away. "I'm fine."

Leonardo knew when he lied, could surmise that from the way the amber-eyed gaze flickered away quickly, the tense clench of Ezio's hands, the tightness to his jaw. He could tell what Ezio wouldn't say.

"It surprises me, that you could entertain yourself so long with just sketches" Leonardo said instead, turning to sort through a stack of blank canvasses, "you have the attention span of a fish."

"That's ridiculous," Ezio snorted, "have you ever tried to entertain a fish?"

"I would ask if you had, but I think you'd lose interest before long."

That laugh. Leonardo's heart twisted.

"That's different. I…" Ezio shrugged a shoulder, leaning on the back of the chair to push the sketches around on the table, "I can see a whole story in these. Everything in them says something to me." He stood up straight, offered a smile. "I believe it's safe for me to go now. Grazie mille, Leonardo."

"Prego, amico mio." Leonardo watched him leave; by now, he knew better than to let temptation drive him to disappointment.

After Ezio had gone, Leonardo was slowly collecting the sketches from the tabletop, stacking them one by one. That someone could stare at one for so long was interesting to Leonardo, and the glimpse into Ezio's mind was nothing short of _fascinating._ Leonardo stared down at the drawing in his hands, a sketch of two women standing before a market stall. His eye went to the sweep of their dresses, the braids in one's hair, the curls of the other, to the lines in the stone, the lazy loops of ribbon. At best, he could invent a simple scenario to accompany the images, the story of two sisters shopping for vegetables. He would never have guessed what gears would have turned in Ezio's mind to weave an entire story for them, one composed, perhaps, of childhoods and sibling rivalries, of other siblings and favoritism.

Leonardo had never known assassins to overanalyze in such a way. He knew they paid attention to the innerworkings of everything, to the patterns of patrol schedules and timing of comings and goings. That Ezio could be caught up by the stories that weren't told… Leonardo had seen the curious fascination in those amber eyes, the enchantment with the unspoken. That was not the trait of an assassin.

That was all Ezio's own.

The discovery, however, was nothing if not bittersweet. Leonardo sank down into the vacated chair, staring down at the sketch. He was still unable to see anything but the painstakingly exact details, and how they made up the whole. To learn that Ezio was something beyond an assassin, that there was still the ember of flame hidden beneath cinders, it promised that there was still hope. Ezio _could_ become something other than an assassin.

That ember clinging to the twist of personality was not for Leonardo, however. All the newfound hope did was show Leonardo just what he was missing.

It showed him all that he would never have.


	6. Chapter 6

Ezio had a grudging respect for heights.

Fear would have been too simplistic and too limiting, and appreciation too idealistic. He could recognize the ability to induce both a thrill and a dizzying wariness, but found it relatively simple to simply  _forget_ that he wasn't on the ground, to just look ahead and pretend like he was on the ground, until it felt like he was. When he limited himself to his own perspective, the rooftops became the Earth.

Nonetheless, something instinctual, almost animalistic, forced Ezio to respect anything that he couldn't fight back.

As he looked down at the city, Ezio was aware that it would take no more than one misjudged step to fall victim to gravity, and that there would be nothing he could do to save himself, and it was always then that Ezio thought of Leonardo.

Ezio was waiting for his target to leave the church; he had forgotten that it took such an excruciatingly long time. The assassin had settled himself at the top of a bell tower, from which he could see the entrance to the church, as well as all of Venezia beyond. The sky did not look any closer, but looking down always made something in him lurch and whimper in protest. It was the way he could just  _see_ the ground screaming up to meet him, nothing he could fight but the untouchable air that would do nothing to save him. Ezio looked at the pillar across from the one he leaned back against, as a small bird hopped to and fro on the stone. It was the sort of scene that would show up on a scrap of paper in Leonardo's workshop, perfectly sketched, precision to the tilt of the bird's head and the indents in the stones. Leonardo could see everything, and that was why Ezio hated it when Leonardo sketched him.

If Leonardo could see  _everything,_ from the crooked, broken bone of his left ring finger that had never healed quite right, to the sharp edges of his canines that interrupted the straight line of white, it was likely that he would notice everything Ezio  _didn't_ want him to see. Seeing the intricate beauty of every detail in all Leonardo's sketches- particularly in those of Ezio himself- had shown Ezio just how close he was to being found out. Ezio lived in constant fear that Leonardo would notice everything he spent every moment in Leonardo presence trying desperately to hide.

The easiest thing to do, of course, would have been to avoid Leonardo, but that would have destroyed everything else that Ezio was, until nothing mattered anymore. Ezio hated the feeling of being  _stuck,_ of when there was nowhere to go from where he was. When he was tearing across rooftops and careening through the streets, there was  _never_ nowhere to go. There was always a path to take, always a way to press onward. He thrived on the options, worked every single one to his advantage, be it by diving into the canals or scaling walls, he never admitted defeat.

And now, now Ezio felt the bitter sting of losing. He would never submit to feeling like he had completely  _lost-_ but there was no way to move from where he was without crossing over into the definite, irrevocable loss of everything.

Below, the church doors opened, but by then, the assassin had already disappeared.

Within half an hour, Ezio was running headlong through a crowd of people, attention fixed on the building across the street. He could hear the guards thundering after him, breaking through the crowd. Ezio burst through the last of the crowd, hands already reaching for holds on the wall. He scrambled up the wall, all-too-aware of the blood seeping from a cut-  _Dio,_ but he dreaded telling Leonardo that, again, he had taken a harsh blow to the same unarmored spot- and in that instant, he was gone.

Ezio hated when he thought of Leonardo when he was on this sort of mad dash away from the guards, because whenever he thought of  _that,_ he lost himself a little, and Ezio  _needed_ everything that he was to keep himself alive. He couldn't afford to lose anything of himself, not  _now._ When he was an assassin through and through, there was nothing he could give up to anything other than his escape and not suffer. He used to be able to- used to separate himself from the role he played, but over time, he'd felt the two meld into one. There were many times he'd felt more of himself twining with all that was an assassin, and couldn't pull himself away without losing half of what he was, until the time came that it wasn't  _half_ of him, it  _was_ him. He'd felt it, though, and that had perhaps been the worst part.

It had been the day he'd visited a family friend, and found himself scanning the room for potential escape routes.

It had been the thought he'd had, as someone turned their back to him as they walked out of the room, and he'd thought  _never turn your back on an assassin, that's death,_ and then realized that it was his sister walking away.

It had been when he'd broken his left ring finger just by running into someone and stared at the crooked bone, wondering why it had to be  _that_ finger, like something out of the past was reaching for him, to pull him back in.

Ezio nearly slipped off the roof as tiles gave way beneath his boot, and he instead leapt across the gap between the buildings, never giving gravity the chance to get a hold on him. Against his better judgment, he veered away from the large building to his right, instead hastily dropping over the side of the roof. That building, he knew, was mostly empty, boxes stacked around, as the owner was in the middle of moving his business into the new location, but Ezio couldn't bring himself to hurtle through there. Not when he'd helped arrange it all, not when the man had given him coins for his trouble and let Ezio feel like, maybe, there was a chance of becoming-

He was stuck. Ezio had swung down into an alleyway and found himself staring at walls, footsteps pounding closer towards him. He _couldn't be stuck._ Defeat was nothing Ezio could handle, and he wondered if that was what he told himself, or if something would break inside him, if he was ever brought to his knees so shamefully.

Ezio's frantic glance locked on the jutting stone in the wall and he lunged for it, pulling himself up, diving the other way to grasp onto the edge of a windowsill, and as he scrambled and his heart threatened to give out,  _he had escaped defeat._

Upon reaching the rooftops, a familiar building made Ezio's heartbeat surge, faster than the already too-quick beat. He couldn't hear the guards behind him, so he bolted for the door, slamming through it and collapsing on the other side. He felt a dull pain as his foot connected with a small table, and heard the telltale shatter of glass.

"Mi dispiace" he managed to gasp out, looking up. Leonardo was standing before him, faint smile on his face.

"You were right about those cups not being sturdy enough, amico mio." Leonardo's smile shone, "that poor glass merchant." Ezio could barely hear him, over the way his heartbeat howled and his pulse raced, the world tilted over. Ezio dropped his head into his hands, felt blood trickling down his arm. "You're hurt?"

"Mmm." He remembered slipping backwards and hitting his head, before scrambling to his feet and continuing the sprint across the rooftops; maybe that was why his sight was being invaded by white and black smudges.

"Same place?"

"Mmm." He blinked up at Leonardo, relieved to see that the world had decided to push the infringing blackness away. "Mi dispiace." Ezio struggled to his feet, resisted the dizziness that rushed at him. The all-out chases always left him short of breath and wondering if he'd truly escaped alive. Ezio sank into a chair, Leonardo coming over a few moments later with a box of medical supplies. He had no idea, how it was that Leonardo could become anything Ezio needed, how he'd be his sanctuary, his doctor, his best friend, his engineer, and somehow, still be purely  _Leonardo._ There was always the spark of curiosity, the compassion Ezio could sink into, like a warmed blanket, to hide there and pretend the rest of the world had ceased to exist. To say that Leonardo was amazing as an artist would leave out everything else that he was, was only a facet of who Leonardo was.

Ezio had said that perfectly wrong thing before, he remembered the acute pain it had cause Leonardo, and Ezio  _hated_ himself for saying that, but all that he'd wanted to say had refused to be spoken, to be turned into something that could be held against him.

He'd hurt Leonardo, though, and Ezio never wanted to taste that again; he'd sooner hurt himself.

And maybe that, Ezio wondered, that would be the way forwards that he hadn't been able to find.

"That should be fine now" Leonardo's voice made Ezio look down at the gash. "Maybe I can find a way to get armor there…" Ezio nodded, staring down at the bandage. As Leonardo crossed the room to put away the box, Ezio stood, wandering over to check the kitchen drawers. By the time Leonardo had shut the cabinet, Ezio had fixed the two broken ones, and one that Leonardo hadn't been able to ever open. "I never figured out what I did to that one" Leonardo mused, looking at the drawer curiously. Ezio pocketed the metal pins he'd wedged into the drawer that had kept Leonardo from ever opening it.

"Just another mystery, amico mio. Grazie, you are a wonderful doctor."

"Prego. I would rather find a way to prevent the same injury from happening again." Ezio smiled.

Ezio didn't miss the completely heartbroken expression on Leonardo's face, fleeting, almost never there at all. He'd seen it before. Once, once, he'd seen Leonardo expect a hug from him, and Ezio, he'd  _frozen,_ painfully sure that if he gave in that much, he'd lose. Lose everything. Ezio had spent far too much time convincing himself that the look meant Leonardo  _wanted_ more, and it had been less than successful. Far easier, now, to convince himself that all the deliberating was somehow hurting Leonardo, to convince himself that to simply  _stop thinking_ wouldn't destroy the world. But now, Leonardo didn't even attempt to ask for a hug, and Ezio felt the fleeting stab of horror when he realized he'd missed his chance.

"You are truly amazing, Leonardo." And for a swift moment, he saw the disappointment on Leonardo's face, the pain he'd  _sworn_ never to cause Leonardo again, "not as an artist. More than that."

Ezio closed the gap between them, crushing his lips to Leonardo's and didn't allow himself to think anymore.

For the first time, he didn't want to go forwards. He wanted to stay forever in the sweet indulgence, before Leonardo could push him away, before the way onwards would destroy everything. He shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't. Shouldn't. Because now that he'd tasted what could be, tasted Leonardo, the despair of the future would reflect against this, making this seem heavenly and everything beyond unbearable.

And then Leonardo was  _kissing him back,_ holding onto him tight, moaning into his mouth, and in the flip of reality, all the time spent hiding it made Ezio cringe. Bright eyes met Ezio's when they broke apart, and he couldn't stand it, being looked at like he meant the whole world to Leonardo.

"I can't be yours, Leonardo." The words  _hurt,_ burning where Leonardo's hands remained on him.

But Leonardo, thank  _Dio,_ had always known how to read him.

"You can be anything you want. You're not just an assassin. Not to me." Leonardo's hold on him tightened, and something deeply instinctual made Ezio hug Leonardo against his chest and never,  _never_ want to let him go. "Please, Ezio. Don't take yourself away from me."

Had he just embraced Leonardo sooner, it would have made this harder, to already  _know_ that Leonardo fit into his arms, that he was warm and holding him felt like protecting him from all the hurt Ezio himself had caused.

"I can't… I  _can't…"_ Because just as instinctual was the need to leave before Leonardo loved him, before all the hurt Ezio could cause was made  _worse_ by the fact that Leonardo could truly and absolutely need him.

It was as if Leonardo could already feel him leaving.

"Please." Leonardo buried his face in Ezio's chest, "Please, please, please… don't  _do_ this to me…" He was sobbing so hard he couldn't catch his breath, shaking in Ezio's arms. That, Ezio realized, was what leaving would feel like, as Leonardo cried and begged him not to go, it felt like everything was falling to pieces before he could catch it, like he hadn't been able to stop everything before the worse happened. " _Per favore,_ Ezio…" It would have been easier if he was just an artist, just an engineer, just a friend, if he wasn't hurt and if he didn't mean everything to Ezio. "I  _love you._ You can't  _do_ this, because I love you and there's nothing worse you could _do to me!"_

"You were never supposed to" Ezio's words elicited a hurt moan from Leonardo. "I can't be…"

"You already are" Leonardo whispered, "you're already more than an assassin to me."

How Leonardo always  _knew_ was a mystery to Ezio. Maybe, Ezio had never allowed himself to think, maybe it wasn't because Leonardo was an artist that saw details, or because he was an engineer that saw solutions. Maybe it was because he just  _knew_ Ezio, maybe it was because he saw beyond the tense guard of an assassin, could see to where Ezio and the assassin he had to be were not one and the same, somewhere Ezio didn't think existed.

"Don't just be indulging me. Please."

"I wouldn't-" Ezio began, but stopped, because he would. Because Leonardo had always meant more than the world to him. "Not this time." He drew in a breath, tried to imagine a day when he wasn't just an assassin.

He saw a morning with Leonardo.

"I love you," he said softly, meeting Leonardo's eyes, "I thought you saw that. You always saw everything else. In your sketches." And Leonardo laughed, drifting like sunlight.

"I was an artist seeing an assassin. This is different." He rose up to kiss Ezio again, gentle and sweet, "This is separate from that."

And what Ezio had always wanted, Leonardo seemed to know, was that separation, of assassin from self.

X xxxxxxxxx x

Ezio woke to sunlight, and Leonardo curled up against him, mumbling in his sleep about a sparrow. He had seen this room before, but very few times, and only when using the window to enter the workshop. The bed was against the wall, near the window. Papers littered the floor, but Ezio couldn't remember seeing those before the previous night. When Leonardo stirred, yawning, he muttered something Ezio couldn't understand.

"What?" He nuzzled against Leonardo, who smiled.

"Dreamed about that bird. I wanted to sketch it. It hopped away first though." Ezio just laughed.

"Tell me, do you sketch in your sleep?"

"That would be interesting" Leonardo's eyes lit up, but then he frowned, "but I don't think I could do that."

"I think you already have" Ezio waved a hand towards the floor, where all the sketches were of the same subject. Leonardo smiled, catching Ezio's hand and bringing Ezio's arm around his waist.

"I woke up early this morning. Couldn't get the pictures out of my head."

"It's a figurine." The small wooden figure was still set on the nightstand, in a different position from when Ezio had last seen it.

"Endless possibilities." Leonardo replied, turning towards him. "What if I had managed to get that drawer open,  _hmm?"_

"Impossible. I made sure of that." Ezio grinned, and Leonardo just groaned.

"The civilized world is less sneaky about gift-giving" he teased, kissing along Ezio's neck, "you've got quite the creative streak."

"It's a skill," Ezio caught Leonardo's lips against his own, kissing him soundly. "Do you know that new business that's being set up, not too far from here? It's going to be some sort of shop for furniture."

"Yes" Leonardo looked up at him, curiosity lighting up his eyes, "What about it?"

"I helped the owner move all of his things into the building. He paid me."

"You took directions? This shocks me." Leonardo then tilted his head, something clearly having occurred to him, "You didn't steal it for me." Ezio shook his head no.

It had been strange, doing something in such a conventional way, but the motions had made him feel like, maybe, he was closer to Leonardo than he'd thought.

Leonardo kissed him again, sweet and deep. "Grazie, amore mio. That means more to me than you know."

Ezio had never thought it would be possible, to find himself within all that was his life as an assassin, but he hadn't needed to. Leonardo had done so for him, because Ezio had been going about it wrong. He'd been trying to separate himself, wholly and absolutely, from being an assassin, and Leonardo, he had known that was not possible, known that Ezio would never be truly happy, forcing himself to become something else entirely. Leonardo knew that it wasn't separation Ezio longed for, it was an embrace of  _all_ that he was. Treating Ezio as an average man would have been an insult, and treating him as an assassin would have broken his heart. It felt like a separation, but all it was was a separation of assumption from actuality. There could be no true separation, but from the preconceived notion of what an assassin was and who Ezio truly was.

Anyone could have loved Ezio for the man he was, but Leonardo knew that Ezio would never feel complete, ignoring the fact that he was, through and through, an assassin.

To love him wholly and absolutely for everything he was, that was what both Leonardo and Ezio wanted.

"Caro mio… please don't break this like the glasses," Leonardo said, smiling up at Ezio, "I don't want to explain to yet another merchant… I'll become the terror of the markets." Ezio just laughed, and Leonardo knew why it was that Ezio only laughed like that with him. It had always been just for him.

Leonardo had always been the only one who'd wanted to hear it.

 


End file.
